Little Brother
by BettyBest2
Summary: A short drabble on how Meliodas views his younger brother, Zeldris.


**-Little Brother-**

There are several things he learns about Zeldris upon cradling him in his arms.

 _Zeldris is small._

Meliodas knows himself to be undersized for his age and has no qualms with it—intimidation comes from far more than _height_ after all. But the baby in his arms is _teeny_ with round cheeks, a fuzz of raven hair over his head, and bright green eyes that in no way lessens the indignant scowl squished on his face. Above all, he finds his little brother warm in a way that sneaks under his skin and settles somewhere in the depths of his chest like a tiny seed that has intentions of growing like a weed. When Meliodas goes to feel the small nose scrunched in the face that looks remarkably similar to his own, he discovers yet another thing about Zeldris.

 _He's damned determined._

Those pink gums close around the tip of his finger with surprising strength, absolutely refusing to let go. A strange sensation tickles the back of his throat and he's shocked to discover laughter escaping him, low and sincere. It's a sound he hasn't heard from himself in what feels like ages, and from the round eyes gazing up at him, his brother might notice the significance of the moment.

Zeldris continues to be a wealth of new things to learn as he grows.

The tiny baby grows to a small tyke that follows after his heels whenever Meliodas finds time to stay within the palace walls. It's in those years that Meliodas discovers what it's like to be viewed in a different light. He's found himself on the receiving end of looks brimming with envy, of scalding hatred, and frantic desperation. The acidic range of looks did nothing to thaw the ice encasing his soul, did nothing to penetrate it.

 _Zeldris looks up to him._

It's nothing like how his comrades look up to him out of obligation, or how others do in hopes of obtaining some form of power. His brother's eyes are now dark, but there's a glimmer within them—reserved for Meliodas—that positively _shines_. It awakens something within him that manages to slip past his icy walls. He's a leader, the one looked upon to take the helm of demon clan as its next King, he has incredible power at the tips of his fingers, and nearly whatever he desires at the snap of his fingers. None of it matters nearly as much as it should to him. Earning the position as his brother's idol is invaluable however.

When Zeldris is old enough to take a hit, Meliodas takes it upon himself to teach his brother everything he knows about fighting much to Cuzake's annoyance. That time spent together is surprisingly worthwhile and eye opening. It's not everyday he gets to watch someone grow into their own and have a small hand in the transition. Zeldris never gives up no matter how many times Meliodas beats him into the ground. One leg pushes up beneath him, and then the other as Zeldris finds his footing once more, head bowed and shoulders slouched as he heaves in heavy breaths.

"Is that all you've got?" Meliodas would often demand in a harsh grating tone.

And Zeldris would look up, body coiling into a ready stance as he smiled through purpling bruises and sticky red blood with dark eyes somehow out matching the sun. It'd be like watching a dying flame flare back to life, igniting the warmth that's bloomed like weeds over the years in Meliodas' frigid chest. "Never," the word would oftentimes slip out as an amused chortle before Zeldris would launch himself at Meliodas, starting their sparring anew. Zeldris' resilience is something Meliodas knew would ultimately have no bounds.

In a world where he doesn't feel as much as he should, Zeldris always manages to do what no other has before time and time again.

Meliodas takes note of what his brother has become. Zeldris is no longer a shadow of Meliodas, he's something different, something others looked up to. Zeldris is a worthy prince of the demon clan on his way to becoming the King's executioner. So Meliodas crafts a sword embodying the strength and drive his brother is known for and presents it to Zeldris on his name day. Meliodas' expression is stoic and perhaps a bit impassive as he held the sheathed sword out to his brother. Zeldris takes it carefully, strapped it to his left hip, then pulls Meliodas into the circle of his arms.

Meliodas' eyes held an astonished roundness. When was the last time he'd hugged his brother? When Zeldris came up to his knees? The feeling jolts something inside of him just like when his brother, a teeny baby back then, caused him to laugh like a rusted part being put to use again. It takes shape in the form of a miniscule smile on his otherwise expressionless face. It even widens to something practically noticeable when he hears Zeldris whisper, "Thank you," just as he pulls away. That cold exterior Zeldris has molded himself into slips away to reveal round green eyes and a crooked smile as he stands tall and sure of himself as he proclaims, "I'll do you proud."

Zeldris has no clue that those words aren't needed. Despite the honesty and sincerity most view as an unfortunate fault within him, Meliodas has always been proud of his brother.

Even with all the years of getting to know his brother, Meliodas is still unable to understand everything about Zeldris. The way he'd raze through enemies with an edge of desperation and the tenacity that would drive him into battles almost as much as Meliodas remain a mystery to him. "It's for the sake of the demon clan," Zeldris would assure him. It's a good thing Meliodas can spot half-truths as well as he can. Being able to spot them however doesn't help in discovering the reasoning behind them.

That is until he finds something that dissolves every single barrier he's ever had and sheds light upon things he's never dreamed of.

Meliodas is grievously late in discovering the crux of his brother's reasoning. The bond between the two strains almost to the point of no return when, for the first time, Meliodas is not someone Zeldris can turn to when he's most needed, or rely on when it matters the most. He hadn't truly known what it meant to be a _big brother_ until Zeldris was ordered to kill his beloved. He'd taken it too lightly, the adoration his brother bestowed upon him coming with the ease in which Meliodas was used to receiving things. His chance to prove himself truly worthy of the role shatters at his failure and Meliodas is forced to feel that mesh of warmth reserved for his little brother constrict like vines in his chest, now a source of eternal regret.


End file.
